Little Boy Hale
by ReluctantSlashFan
Summary: After Stiles accidentally upsets a de-aged Derek, his father gives him some good advice.


**This is just an idea that has been bugging me. I just wanted to get it out of my head, so here it is.**

**Thanks for reading, I really hope you guys like this, and drop me a comment if you can.**

**I don't own these characters.**

**See ya!**

* * *

It was essentially Derek's own damn fault he ended up de-aged. The pack had been fighting a breed of nephilim whose scratches turned adults into children. While Stiles played research guy, and attempted to find a way to kill the enemy, Derek had been busy trying to keep his pack from getting infected. He was too damn protective for his own good sometimes.

Stiles wasn't quite sure when it happened, sometime between Erica narrowly missing a scratch to the leg and Isaac getting stabbed by one of their tiny swords, but one moment Derek is fighting with his pack and the next he's on the ground, withering in pain.

Stiles had managed to find out how to kill them, all but shouting to Scott from his jeep, and soon the wolves were returning. Only, Erica was carrying something bundled up in a familiar leather jacket. The bundle turned out to be a smaller version of their Alpha. After Stiles laughed himself into a near coma, ignoring the glares thrown at him, he started his jeep and drove to the vet's office.

Deaton had looked Mini-Derek over, and assured everyone that he was perfectly healthy. He had some massive memory loss, but knew enough to trust his pack. Surprisingly, he took to Stiles like a baby duck takes to the first thing it sees when it first hatches, and the five-year-old Alpha had been staying with the Stilinskis until Deaton could come up with a cure.

Mini-Derek was exhausting, both mentally and physically, and Stiles was glad he had his father to fall back on. It also helped that they formed some type of weird bond. When Derek wasn't hanging off Stiles' arm, asking some of the most inane questions, he was following Stiles' father around the house, asking his questions, offering to help the older man even when his help wasn't really needed. His father had even gone as far as making Derek an honorary deputy. He even gave him a tiny, plastic badge that the kid liked to wear on the mini-leather jacket Lydia bought him.

"When is Mr. Sheriff comin' home?" Derek asked curiously, jumping up and down on Stiles' bed, the sugar still pumping through his system from earlier. Stiles had told Scott and Isaac not to give him any, but they never seemed to listen to him beforehand what made him think they would listen now.

"He'll be home in a few minutes," Stiles replied from his desk, trying to get his homework done, ignoring the squeaking of the springs every time Derek's feet hit the bed.

"Do you think we can have pizza again?" the kid asked curiously.

"I was going to make you something healthy. You shouldn't eat all that junk, and Mr. Sheriff really doesn't need any more fatty foods added to his diet."

"But pizza is good. Even you said it was good."

"Yeah, it is good, but not all the time," Stiles stated glancing over his shoulder at the bouncing kid.

"But _you_ said," Derek insisted jumping higher. Stiles merely sighed, letting the argument go. It just wasn't worth it. Derek was just as stubborn at five as he was at twenty-four.

"Maybe tomorrow night," Stiles compromised, returning to his homework.

"Can we have tacos instead?"

"No."

"What about burgers? I love burgers."

"Yeah, the proof of that is smeared across the backseat of my jeep," Stiles muttered darkly. That's what he got for letting Jackson and Boyd baby-sit. Maybe he shouldn't have let them borrow his jeep to begin with, but Stiles didn't trust Jackson's Porsche (it was basically drivable plastic), and he wouldn't let them take Mini-Derek in it.

"Can we go visit Lydia later?" For some strange reason, Derek liked Lydia. He said she was nice, but the only nice thing she had done for the kid was buy him his jacket. She said she was there for accessorizing not for baby-sitting, and had refused to watch him the last four times Stiles had asked.

"Maybe tomorrow after I get home from school," Stiles promised shutting his math book. One subject down about a million to go; he sighed, grabbed his English book, and opened it.

"Can I have more candy?"

"No!" Stiles exclaimed rounding on the kid. "Why don't you sit down, be quiet, and maybe we'll go to the park when I finish my homework."

"I don't wanna go to the park," Derek responded jumping faster. "It's stupid there and the other kids are mean."

"They're only mean because you growled at them."

"No, I did that 'cause they are mean," the kid countered, the bed continuing to squeak under his feet. "They said I was too little to climb the monkey bars, but I _know_ I am not too little. I climbed onto your roof, and I wasn't even scared." Derek might not have been scared, but Stiles had been certain his heart stopped when he spotted the five-year-old sitting on the roof, tiny legs hanging over the edge, laughing as he threw tiny pebbles at anybody who passed him.

Stiles returned to his homework, again trying to ignore the squeaky mattress, but it was becoming increasingly harder to do, and he wasn't exactly the epitome of focused to begin with, so he wasn't surprised when he stood up and snapped, "I mean it, if you don't stop jumping I'm going to lock you in the basement!"

Stiles hadn't meant to say it, and he regretted the words the moment he said them. Despite not remembering the fire, Derek still wouldn't go near the basement without someone being with him, and he wouldn't go any further than the third step from the top. It was most likely lingering anxieties he hadn't really dealt with as an adult.

The kid abruptly stopped jumping, looking as if he were slapped, his unusually, shiny, green eyes widening. Downstairs, Stiles heard the front door open, and his dad call, "Boys, I'm home!"

At those words, Derek snapped, "I hate you, and I'm tellin' Mr. Sheriff you're being mean." He then jumped off the bed and ran out of the room.

"Derek, wait!" Stiles called after him, quickly following him.

Stiles found Derek's face buried in his father's shoulder, shaking, his words muffled as he tried to explain why he was mad. The older man listened, running a hand down his back, softly shushing him. It was mostly gibberish, but Stiles' father got the gist of it.

"Maybe I should take him for a while," the older man suggested and Stiles numbly nodded. "You can finish your homework."

"Okay."

Stiles tried to apologize, but his father merely said, "Give him time to cool off, and then try again later."

Since his father knew more about kids than he ever could, Stiles nodded again and headed back upstairs.

**TW**

Derek wouldn't talk to him during dinner nor would he look his way. He kept his head down, picking at his food, every so often sniffing. He hadn't even complained that Stiles was trying to feed him vegetables.

After dinner, Stiles cleaned up while his father took Derek into the living room.

Once the dishes were clean, Stiles joined them in the living room, but he found the kid passed out against his father. "I was hoping…" he stated gesturing to Derek.

"He probably won't wake up for a while," his father said softly.

"I should…"

"Stiles, do you know how many times you got mad at me at this age? Kids need time to cool off, they'll eventually forgive you. And, since he's five (and not twenty-four) he'll probably forgive you a lot quicker. Don't worry about it."

"I guess I'm a crappy parent," Stiles commented taking a seat in the easy chair kitty corner from the couch.

"Thank God he's not yours then," his father joked, though his eyes told Stiles that he shouldn't even be thinking about having kids, yet.

"I shouldn't have threatened to lock him in the basement. Just because he was getting on my nerves it was no excuse…"

"When you were four I threatened to leave you at the store because you wouldn't hurry up," his father admitted softly, surprisingly Stiles a little. "We make stupid mistakes sometimes. We're only human."

Stiles nodded, pushing himself to his feet. He gestured behind him and said, "I should get to bed." He then gestured to Derek, "Do you want me…?"

"I've got him," his father replied quietly. "Night, son."

"Night, Dad."

"Tiles," a small voice said causing Stiles to stop.

"Yeah buddy," he answered glancing down at Derek.

"I forgib you," the kid replied and then burrowed deeper into the sheriff's side, falling asleep again.

"See," Stiles' father said with a small smile. Stiles nodded and then started towards the stairs. If this was what parenting was like, he was never having kids. He wasn't sure if he could live with the constant dread, guilt, and fear that came with having kids. Was it really worth it?

With a sigh, he stepped into his room, closing his bedroom door. He kicked his shoes off, flopping face down on his bed. He'd just have to control his frustration a little better, especially if they were going to be stuck with Mini-Derek for a while.

Before he fell asleep, he made a mental note to check with Deaton in the morning. Surely four days was enough to make some type of leeway. It had to be.


End file.
